


try again

by calerine



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: M/M, Prosopagnosia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 06:54:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6843814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calerine/pseuds/calerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>nino can't remember faces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	try again

**Author's Note:**

> written for natalie who prompted me with "nino/aiba, prosopagnosia"

on day ten of his new life, it’s the sun’s fault entirely that nino wakes up. he takes a huge gulping breath, lungs stuttering in the fright of this unexpected wake-up call. 

aiba must have left the curtains open again yesterday night, he thinks annoyedly, flicking through social media on his phone. his sister’s twitter records her night out in ginza, drinking expensive as fuck cocktails and then a slow descent into typos and complete nonsense, though it’s not like she makes a lot of sense sober anyway.

outside the television is squawking out the morning news, offering up a pile-up on the highway and a sold-out Johnny’s concert. nino takes a second to stretch, listening idly to aiba’s voice talking to his mother on the phone. 

“we’ll be there, mum, don’t worry. yeah, he’s fine, just -” and he drops off for a moment. “we’ll be there, we’ll be there. see you then.” 

there is a moment before he appears. nino listens intently for his footfall, the approaching shuffle of his slippers and even though he’s bracing himself, it still catches nino off guard when the man comes into view.

“nino,” he smiles, lounging against the doorframe but not quite succeeding at nonchalance before he falls and smacks the side of his head on the wood. nino remembers thinking once that he would remember that smile anyway, but now he’s grasping at straws again. it’s become a familiar feeling, this sudden, chilling  _ almost-there _ hanging by the tip of his tongue. 

“sorry, are you aiba-chan’s friend? did you stay the night?” nino asks, this close to yelling out for aiba just to check. perhaps he’s one of aiba’s friends from university, maybe they drank too much last night after rehearsal, and he had to crash on their couch. nino’s sure it’s nothing - probably. the man’s face falls for a split second then he’s laughing, a touch of hysteria in his forced mirth.

“nino,  _ i’m _ aiba-chan. remember?” and nino wishes this realisation could have dawned thirty seconds ago instead of now, just so he wouldn’t have to deal with the shame again, and aiba’s stricken expression. 

“of course,  _ of course, _ ” nino corrects, but it’s already far too late. he reaches out his hands and aiba comes, like he always does, folding his legs under him on their crumpled sheets. it’s been  _ ten days _ but it feels like ten whole lifetimes already, what with this weird new inability that used to be a strength. the notebook of cropped out faces on his bedside table would be morbidly hilarious in any other situation but this. 

“it’s okay,” aiba whispers, and nino knows he’s all out of any other kind of platitude, that this illness lends itself so well to speechlessness. “my mother asked us to come around for dinner next week.”

when nino opens his mouth to decline, aiba interrupts. “she made me promise that you’re coming, so you have to come okay! or my father’ll pass me fewer frozen gyoza than he promised, and i’ll  _ die. _ ”

nino laughs. “then you’ll have to be in charge of introducing everybody multiple times,” and aiba has the absolute gall to scoff. 

he pulls the blankets over nino’s head, and nino hears his muffled laughter when he teases “so, basically like the first time you came around for dinner then.” 

“ _ rude _ ,” nino gripes, but he’s wriggling out from the sea of fabric, tackling aiba onto the bed and tickling him until he’s breathless and red-faced with the sunshine coming in from the window. nino kisses his smile and presses his face into the nape of his neck so he breathes in aiba’s warmth, and the memory of being the small spoon yesterday, aiba’s arm around his waist and his damp exhales on the skin behind nino’s ear. 

aiba ruffles nino’s hair so fondly, and nino resolutely does not lean into the touch. “come on then. get out of bed, i made breakfast.” aiba says, rolling out from under him, and nino’s so grateful when he doesn’t let himself out of sight. 

 


End file.
